


Down And Dirty

by dear_monday



Category: Bandom, My Chemical Romance
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bikers, Lingerie, M/M, Public Sex, Rimming, Rough Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-18
Updated: 2012-09-18
Packaged: 2017-11-14 13:47:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,027
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/515851
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dear_monday/pseuds/dear_monday
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gerard's own beloved cherry-red Harley has pedigree in fucking spades, sure, but she's seen better days, and she just doesn't have the power to outrun Iero and that revolting custom paint job. The matching helmet painted to look like a jack-o-lantern is just too much. An AU wherein the boys are dirty bikers, inspired by the recently-released photos from the Japanese Rolling Stone shoot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Down And Dirty

**Author's Note:**

> Warning for mild violence. Also, accuracy of details is likely to be dodgy at best.

Iero is an obnoxious, arrogant little shit, who Gerard can't even look at without wanting to rearrange that pretty face. His mere existence grates at the very core of Gerard's being, which is unfortunate, because everyone else seems to think the sun shines out of his ass. Gerard can tell they like him by the way they actually give him cigarettes when he asks for them. It took Gerard _years_ to earn that kind of trust and respect.

The kid is a _talent_ , apparently. Talent, my lily-white _ass_ , Gerard thinks, grinding his cigarette butt savagely under the heel of his boot and immediately lighting another. There's no _finesse_ to the way Frank rides. He's like a kid on his first tricycle, stupid and reckless and likely to end up with his skull cracked like an eggshell out on the track.

Not that Gerard cares.

He takes a deep drag on his smoke, filling his lungs, and ends up coughing and sputtering. Fuck. Fuck _everything_.He spits into the dirt at his feet. This is all _his_ fault.

"Aw, you'll get used to it," drawls a voice behind him. "Everyone chokes on their first cigarette, right?"

Gerard does not deign to grace the jumped-up little fuck with his attention. He finishes his smoke in stony silence and drops it, stamping it out. "See you out on the track," he says brusquely, making sure he knocks Frank with his shoulder and throws the little shitstain off-balance as he brushes past.

 

*

 

Iero always rides like a douchebag, cutting other people off or forcing them to slam their brakes on just to avoid a nasty crash. Today, though... today is something special. They're the only ones on the track, but Frank is sticking right behind Gerard, dangerously close, like a kid playing the shadow game. Gerard jinks and twists this way and that, even taking different lines through the corners, but every time he thinks he's thrown the fucker off, that hideous black and orange Suzuki reappears in his mirrors. Gerard's own beloved cherry-red Harley has pedigree in fucking spades, sure, but she's seen better days, and she just doesn't have the power to outrun Iero and that revolting custom paint job. The matching helmet painted to look like a jack-o-lantern is just too much, Gerard finds himself thinking irritably as he checks his mirrors before rocketing into the hairpin turn with a shriek of brakes and rubber on asphalt. Gerard loves this more than anything else - the speed, the throbbing of the engine between his thighs, the smell of the dusty leathers.

And now this jumped-up little punk brat is trying to ruin all of that for him. Words are going to be had, Gerard thinks grimly. The kind of words that lead to black eyes and bloody lips and broken noses.

Then, as if he was reading Gerard's mind, Iero finally hits the gas and darts out ahead of Gerard. Thank _fuck_. Gerard doesn't even care about Iero overtaking him, he just wants the bastard out of his hair. There's a slice of exposed skin above Iero's belt where his jacket has ridden up, and Gerard glimpses a mottled, angry-looking bruise rearing its head above the leather and obscuring the calligraphic tattoos there.

And then Gerard nearly plows his bike into one of the banks of tires stacked around the edges of the track.

It was only for the briefest of split seconds, but Gerard is _sure_ he saw a strip of lace above Frank's belt.

Pink lace. Brazen, look-at-me, I-don't-give-a-fuck pink.

Iero roars off down the home stretch of the track, dwindling to a cut-out silhouette and eventually starting to blur and shimmer in the heat haze swimming above the asphalt. Gerard has never been so fucking confused in his entire life. He tries to block it out, lose himself in the growl and snarl of the engine, the power of the bike underneath him, the dizzying pull of the G-force in the bends and corners. But, somehow, he can't bring himself to enjoy it like he usually does. He doesn't usually find it difficult to switch his brain off and let his body take over, but today his mind keeps straying. Fucking Iero. This is all his motherfucking fault. The more Gerard thinks about it, the angrier he gets.

He finally pulls off the track early before he does something stupid. He's not a fucking idiot, unlike some people. He knows when to call it a day. The space behind the track's office where the spare tires are kept is deserted, so Gerard parks his bike there and wets a scrap of chamois leather under the ancient faucet. If only Ray were in the office today. He usually keeps a few cold beers in there, and Gerard could really, _really_ use one right now. The russet-colored dust has started build up on the bike's bodywork, and she isn't looking her best. He drops to his knees in the dirt and sets to work.

As he works to dig the worst of the muck out of the difficult nooks and crannies, he finds himself thinking about what he saw out on the track. Iero is a childish, attention-seeking dickbag, and that's all it is. It was probably part of some pointless, elaborate scheme to fuck with Gerard. And, loathe as he is to admit it, it's working. His imagination worries away at it, filling in the lace following the curve of Frank's ass, the pink shocking and fucking slutty against pale skin that isn't used to seeing the sun. He imagines the lace-- no, they're probably just lace-trimmed, the _silk_ stretching obscenely over Frank's cock, soft and teasing on his skin. Going by what Gerard saw earlier and the ink sprawled all over Frank's arms, it doesn't seem at all unreasonable to imagine more tattoos, strange and foreign-looking where they meet the lace. More bruises, too, some yellowed and faded, others fresh and sore and plum-colored. Gerard imagines sinking his fingers into them and watching Frank writhe and mewl.

Fuck. This probably exactly what the bastard wanted. Gerard bites his tongue and returns his attention to the dirt-caked panel in front of him. Gerard is going to rise above this, and he is absolutely _not_ ,under any circumstances, going to let that fucker know that he's got to him.

"Fucking - cocksucking mother _fucker_ ," he mutters furiously, scrubbing at a stubborn fleck of dirt.

"Hey, hey. That's no way to talk to a bike like that," says Frank behind him, because of _course_ that's who it is. Gerard can hear the stupid smirk in Frank's voice, and he wants nothing more than to wipe it off his stupid face. Gerard is on his feet again in a heartbeat, throwing the leather to the ground. This isn't fucking funny anymore, not that it ever was.

"What the _fuck_ is wrong with you?" he snarls, shoving Frank backwards.

"Oh, shit, I'm sorry," Frank retorts, pushing back and catching Gerard off-balance. "Does my _breathing_ piss you off that bad?"

Gerard's fist meets Frank's jaw with a satisfying _crack_ of bone on bone. Gerard's knuckles start throbbing almost immediately, but he's too angry to care about the sick, jagged pain.

For a long, suspended moment, Frank is perfectly still. Then, slowly, he lowers his head to spit blood into the dust at his feet, and the spell is broken. He lunges forward, grabbing a handful of Gerard's hair with one hand and yanking viciously, holding him still while Frank drives his knee into Gerard's gut. Gerard's vision swims and he grunts, feeling for a moment like he's going to lose his lunch. He's beginning to realize that Frank is much stronger than he looks. Gerard straightens up, wheezing, and goes for Frank's throat. Frank twists away but loses his balance, and Gerard pushes him to the ground, going down hard on top of him and listening with satisfaction to the _oof_ of Frank's breath being knocked clean out of his lungs.

"I am _so done_ ," Gerard pants, twisting so he's straddling Frank's hips and pinning Frank's wrists to his sides. "With - _you_ , and your fucking childish _bullshit_ and - and now the _fucking girl panties_."

Frank suddenly stops struggling between Gerard's thighs, a nasty grin uncurling across his face. "Oh, you noticed, huh? Is that what gets you hot? You wanna see some more?"

"Not if you paid me," Gerard spits, although it strikes him as the words leave his mouth that he's breathing heavily and that anyone who caught them now would, quite understandably, jump to the only logical conclusion. Frank huffs a laugh and suddenly jerks hard, throwing Gerard off. There's a graceless tussle for dominance, all elbows and knees and grunts and pulled hair and muffled curses, and Gerard winds up on his back with a stone digging into his spine and Frank's solid weight on top of him.

"You've had some fucked-up problem with me since _day one_ ," Frank hisses. "I don't know what the shit I did, but you've been nothing but a giant fucking asshole the whole time. You're a _dick_." He leans down, bloody teeth bared, like he's about to spit in Gerard's eye.

And then his hips shift, and suddenly everything makes sense.

Frank is hard, his dick hot and heavy and pressed against Gerard's stomach.

"You sick fuck," Gerard breathes, disbelieving, and Frank stops dead. "So, _this_ is what you're about? All that shit you've pulled, it was all to get me to smack you around so you could get your fucking rocks off?"

Frank shifts backwards and rolls his hips, slow and filthy and utterly deliberate, grinding against Gerard's crotch, and Gerard chokes on a rough, wrecked groan. Fuck.

"You know what they say about-- ngh, about people in glass houses, right?" Frank says, dropping one hand to palm himself through his jeans. It looks like they got yanked down on one side during the scuffle, exposing a bruised hip and a tempting slice of saccharine pink lace. Gerard can't help but imagine Frank's cock hard and leaking, straining against the delicate silk, the heat and the weight and the musky smell of him, and Gerard's treacherous mouth waters. He wants to press his face into the crease of Frank's thigh, breathe him in, mouth at Frank through the fabric then tug the panties out of the way with his teeth.

Frank's smile is bloodied and nasty. "Not if I paid you, huh?" he drawls. "That's not how it looks from here."

"Get the fuck _off_ of me," Gerard snarls. Frank does, and his fucking smirk doesn't even flicker. Gerard gets to his feet unsteadily, the headrush making him weak-kneed and disorientated. He slams Frank back against the wall of the empty office, pinning him with one hand while he digs his thumb into the bruise splashed over Frank's hipbone.

"Oh, _fuck_ ," Frank chokes, his hips kicking forwards, and Gerard ducks his head to bite at that stupid scorpion tattoo. Frank fucking _whines_ , high and thin. Frank is rutting unashamedly against Gerard's thigh, his hands dropping down to grab Gerard's ass and pull him even closer, his fingers digging in a little. "Your ass, oh my _god_ ," he says indistinctly. "Shit, I gotta--"

He pushes Gerard away, grabs his hair again and spins him around, bending him over a stack of spare tires and pinning him with a hand between his shoulderblades. He leans down too, his chest pressed to Gerard's back, his mouth hot by Gerard's ear.

"Don't you dare move a fucking muscle, okay?" he says roughly, and steps back again before Gerard has time to answer. He struggles with the zipper of Gerard's pants for a few moments before giving up with a grunt of frustration and just yanking them down instead and kicking Gerard's feet apart. Gerard hears an ominous ripping noise, and feels the button bounce away.

"You're paying for those, asshole," he says, fighting to keep his voice steady, and Frank snorts.

"Like hell I am. Who the fuck wears leather pants anyway? You know you're really fucking obvious about checking your own ass out, right?"

Gerard tries to form a reply, but the words scatter like the beads of a broken rosary when Frank drops to his knees and brushes his hot, wet mouth over the small of Gerard's back. Gerard remembers the blood on Frank's lips, and shivers, imagining the streak of rusty red on his own skin.

Frank runs his thumb down the cleft of Gerard's ass and stops, holding him open. Gerard is painfully turned on, his cock throbbing against his stomach, and when Frank blows lightly over his hole, he fucking _twitches_. Frank laughs, low and dark.

"What happened to _not if you paid me_ , huh?" he murmurs, his breath ghosting over Gerard's skin. "You're pretty easy underneath all that, aren't you?"

"Says the guy with his face in my ass," Gerard retorts, ignoring the way his gut twists at the words. Frank doesn't even bother to reply, just fucking _goes_ for it, his tongue hot and wet as he laps at Gerard's hole. Gerard moans, sounding slutty and desperate even to himself. He's outside - by a deserted track in the ass end of nowhere, true - but _outside_ , where anyone could see them, bent over and moaning while another guy eats him out. Frank makes a low, filthy noise and pushes the tip of his tongue into Gerard before pulling back to tease at the edge of his hole again, and Gerard groans. Frank's tongue is slick and clever, spreading Gerard open and, god, it's fucking good. He's close already, his pulse beating in his ears and his dick fucking _aching_ to be touched.

"You can touch yourself," Frank says, the sudden softness in his voice jarring oddly with the sharp slap he gives Gerard's ass. "Wanna feel you come."

Gerard really, really doesn't need to be told twice. He can't help the moan that feels like it was torn right out of his chest when he spits into his palm and finally, _finally_ starts jacking himself. Between the tight circle of his own fingers around his cock and Frank licking at him almost _greedily_ , it isn't long before his hips are stuttering forwards and he's letting out high, breathy little _ah_ s on every exhale. He sounds like a goddamn porn star, and he is _so_ far past caring. He can feel it, the orgasm coiling tighter and tighter in the pit of his stomach. Close, fuck, so close.

And then Frank thrusts his tongue into Gerard one final, perfect time, and Gerard is completely gone, coming long and hard into his hand with a choked, wordless shout. Frank doesn't let up until he's writhing and over-sensitive, begging incoherently for Frank to stop when his knees start shaking and the sensation is balanced right between perfect and unbearable.

"Frank," he says weakly. Fuck, his afterglow must be _blinding_ , that's how good he feels. "Frank, I wanna... let me..."

Frank moves back and Gerard straightens up, his back protesting. Frank is flushed and panting, his mouth wet, his eyes huge and dark, pupils blown wide open. God, Gerard wishes he'd seen this side of him earlier.

"What..." Frank starts, then trails off as Gerard drops down to kneel in front of him.

"Been wanting to do this since I saw you out on the track," Gerard says, his voice rough as he slowly unbuttons Frank's jeans, taking time to appreciate the conspicuous bulge of Frank's hard-on. He peels the denim away, and inhales sharply. The panties are silk, trimmed with lace, just like he'd imagined. They're stretched out, the line of Frank's cock obvious through the delicate fabric, a damp spot of precome making them cling a little.

"Oh, fuck," murmurs Gerard, leaning in and just _breathing_. He's going to be jacking off to that thought for _months_.

"Come _on_ , fucker," Frank groans, and Gerard presses his lips to the silk, licking at it and feeling the heat of Frank's skin just underneath. Today has been torture. He deserves to enjoy this. He was right about the tattoos and the bruises, too, both of them mapping Frank's skin. Gerard wishes for a moment that they had more time, a real bed, lube. Frank is like one of those Chinese box stories, layers and layers that beg to be explored. The pink is bold and bright, almost lurid against his skin and all that gorgeous stark ink and those dusky bruises.

Gerard tugs the panties down over Frank's hips, the rough lace sending little jitters of sensation all the way up his arms.

" _Please_ ," Frank says, sounding desperate and needy and so completely wrecked that Gerard can't help himself. He's had his fun. He wraps his mouth around Frank's cock and sinks down, reveling in Frank's little mewling noises. There's nothing quite like taking another person apart like this, reducing them to a mess of want. Frank's close, judging by the uneven hitching of his breaths and the way his hips are twitching forwards. His hands find their way into Gerard's hair, holding his head in place so Frank can fuck his mouth, and Gerard makes a low noise of encouragement. He opens wider for Frank, taking him deeper and letting his mind stray to what a mess he must look. A fucked-out, tangled mess, and he'll walk out of here with his head held high.

He flicks his tongue against Frank's slit, and, totally without warning, Frank comes. Gerard tastes it, slick and hot and bitter, and feels the rest of it spatter his face. Frank pulls Gerard to his feet, panting, his eyes wide and unfocussed, and--  holds him. Just holds him, which is certainly not what Gerard was expecting. They must make quite a sight, both bruised and bloodied, their hair tangled, their pants down around their thighs, leaning on each other while they get their breath back.

Frank pulls back with a lazy smile, and drags his fingers through the come on Gerard's face. "You look like hell," he says. "Come back to my place, we'll get you cleaned up."


End file.
